A Proper Beltin' Ceilidh
by gomababe
Summary: The final fic promised for Burn's night, which is tomorrow  Jan 25th . Very Scotland/France orientated, a little bit cracky and rated for some suggestive themes towards the end. There was a reason England didn't want to wear a kilt to Scotland's ceilidh.


A/N: Written just in time for the night itself. This is more Scotland/France orientated though there is a little bit of Canada/Ukraine in here as well. As always reviews are welcome.

...

Scotland snickered as he watched England glare at France, the latter now sporting a rather raw looking slap mark across his face. France pouted as Scotland came over to rescue his best friend from his brother's wrath,

"L'Ecosse, your brother is in a terrible mood." He half whined. Scotland shook his head as England puffed out his chest in irritation,

"Well you would choose tonight to be perverted you idiot frog!" the Englishman snapped as Scotland roped an arm around France's shoulder,

"I'm sorry tae tell ye this Francis, but I dinnae think tryin' tae sneak a look up England's kilt wis a very smart move." He sighed, earning him a look of approval from the younger nation, "He'll end up showing it all off later on when he's totally pished onyway." He finished, causing England's expression to drop to a glower and France to burst out laughing. Scotland quickly led his old friend away before England could find his voice again, the two of them still laughing,

"Ah, L'Ecosse _mon ami_, you will never change will you?" France chortled as he wiped a tear from his eye. Scotland chuckled,

"O' course no'." He replied a grin on his face as he sat down at the bar, "An' neither will you I bet." He added. France merely shrugged,

"I was merely curious." He stated as he took the wine being offered to him by the barman, "After all we all know you are a True Scotsman, in every sense of the word." He said with a sly wink, causing Scotland to roll his eyes dismissively and tap the blonde on the head,

"A'right that's enough o' that." He muttered, "Can ye at least wait until a wee bit later when everybody's no' so sober?" France merely chuckled again, taking a sip of his wine,

"Ah but where would the fun in that be?" he asked. He leaned in towards Scotland, "Besides I know you like it." He whispered, causing the other to flush a little. It was at this point that Russia came to the bar,

"Ah, comrade Scotland, it is a very good party da?" he quipped pleasantly as he took a seat next to the red haired nation. France paled a little, but somehow managed to keep his composure as Scotland replied to the Russian man,

"Aye it's been great so far, but wait just wait 'til we get the ceilidh goin'." He grinned, "Should be crackin' tae see the ithers dancing." Russia nodded and then spotted France,

"Should be good to dance, da?" he said, nodding to France, who returned the gesture,

"Ah, oui, the dances are superb, though incredibly tiring." He said. Scotland laughed,

"Well we need some way to lose a' the weight we've been puttin' on the last century or so." Russia giggled,

"Well I cannot complain about the food tonight, it was excellent." He said. Scotland beamed at him,

"Ta very much, though most o' the praise should be goin' to Canada and France. The twa o' them have been a great help over the last week wi' the food." Russia nodded and smiled at France, who smiled weakly back,

"Speaking of comrade Matvey, do you know where he is? I would like to talk with him, da?" he asked the two western nations. France paled a little and took another sip of his wine, while Scotland leaned on the bar,

"Last time I saw Mata he wis talkin' tae Australia." He replied easily, "Ye might want to check oot Arthur's ither ex-colonies and dominions." He suggested, "Failin' that, ye might want to ask America." Russia nodded,

"Thank you, I shall go look for them now da?" he said, taking a glass of vodka from the barman before wandering off. France sighed,

"I wonder what 'e wanted to talk to _mon petit_ about?" he wondered aloud. Scotland shrugged, turning around so he could see the rest of the hall,

"Nae idea." He said, "Either way he'll find oot soon enough, looks like the ceilidh's aboot to kick off." Scotland nodded to the stage, where the band he'd arranged for this evening were making the final adjustments to their instruments. The lead fiddler stepped up to the microphone,

"A'right ladies and gents, if ye'd like tae arrange yersel's into groups o' eight fur the Eightsome Reel!" he called. Scotland grinned as he dragged France out of his seat and onto the dance floor to join his brothers, New Zealand, Spain and Romano just as the music started up.

...

_A couple of hours later_

Scotland collapsed into a seat with a laugh, finally finding an excuse to miss out the next couple of dances.

"Had enough already comrade?" came a heavily accented voice. Scotland picked up the nearest drink, not caring whose it was, and downed it before replying,

"Ach, I'll let the youngsters hae a turn." He said, grinning at the Russian, "Us auld anes are startin' tae show oor age." He chuckled, nodding over to China, who was sitting at the next table. The Asian nation noticed the gesture and waved back, making his way over to the same table so he could talk to his host.

"Aiyah, I'm getting far too old for all these fast dances aru." He sighed as he sat down again. Scotland laughed,

"You and me both." He replied, "Care fur another drink?" he offered. China shook his head,

"No thank you, aru. I've still got this glass to finish first." He said, lifting his glass to show Scotland what he meant. Scotland shrugged and turned to the Russian instead,

"Whit aboot you Russia, care fur another roond?" he asked, noting that the other man's glass was empty once again. Russia nodded pleasantly,

"Da, I would like another drink." He replied. Scotland nodded, taking the glass and heading up to the bar. On his way back he noticed France making his way from the dance floor and called him over,

"Oi France, mind giein' us a hand wi' these?" he asked, motioning as best he could to the drinks he was carrying. France looked over, sighed and went over to the Scot, taking two of the glasses he was trying to carry,

"Honestly, _mon amour_, you should try to order less from the bar at once non?" he sighed. Scotland merely kissed him on the cheek as he passed,

"But that would mean haein' to go up tae the bar again tae get mair drink." He pointed out, "At the rate Russia an' I drink that's probably gonnae be in the next ten minutes." France sighed again as he sat down next to Scotland, obviously he was starting to get a little on the tipsy side,

"And at this rate you will both be passed out as soon as the party ends." He tutted. Scotland laughed,

"Sorry tae disappoint ye Francis, but that's no' very likely." He replied and then nodded over to the dance floor,

"Ma wee brither on the other hand..." Everyone looked over just in time to see a rather drunken looking England jump on an unsuspecting Ireland, who merely sighed and patted the younger man on the head. France chuckled,

"Ah so _mon petit lapin_ 'as reached that stage already." He gave Ireland a sympathetic glance as the red-haired nation strode past, carrying his brother piggy back style and muttering in Irish under his breath. Ireland finally seemed to notice that he was being watched and looked to Scotland,

"Sorry about this boyo, but it looks like this one's already passed out." Scotland waved him off,

"No problem Seamus, I'm surprised the wee bugger lasted this long onyways." He replied, looking briefly at England, who was snuggling into Ireland's shoulder and muttering about 'bloody idiot wankers'. France chuckled,

"We shall probably see you in the morning Seamus, _bonne nuit._" He called as Seamus carried the youngest Kirkland brother out of the hall and towards the car. Scotland looked at the other nations in the hall; it looked like most of them were ready for things to wind down for the night. The Scottish man sighed and headed over to the ceilidh band, had a quick word with them and almost skipped back to grab France's hand. The lead fiddler took to the microphone once again,

"Last dance o' the night everyone, so if ye'd like tae grab yersel' a partner o' some description fer the Gay Gordons!" he called. Most nations immediately went back to their tables for this one, but several pairs joined Scotland and France on the dance floor, including a rather nervous looking Canada and Ukraine. Scotland beamed at them before taking France's hands in time for the dance to begin.

...

Scotland waved to the other nations as they filed out of the hall, some obviously holding their drink better than others. He beamed to a hyperactive north Italy, who was leading a tired looking Germany by the arm,

"Grazie for inviting us to your party La Scozia, I had a wonderful time." He grinned. Scotland returned the gesture more than happily,

"You're welcome Italy, I'm just glad you and Germany could make it." He replied. As Italy ran off to Germany's car the blonde haired nation shook the Scot's hand,

"It was a very good night. Give my regards to your bruders." He said. Scotland once again returned the gesture,

"I'm glad you enjoyed yersel'." He replied, "Ye'd better get goin' tae yer car. I think ye gave Italy the keys..." he trailed off as Germany raced over to his car, shouting to North Italy in German. Scotand chuckled as he turned to the last of the non-familial guests; Spain and Romano. Spain hugged Scotland tightly,

"I had a very good time, gracias again for inviting us." Scotland patted the Mediterranean nation on the back before he was let go,

"Glad ye had a nice time Spain. I bet you're pretty glad Seamus dragged Arthur oot when he did." He said with a sly smile. Spain laughed,

"Si, I was dreading him having that much to drink." Romano gave his 'boss' a quizzical look but his usual scowl returned when Scotland turned to him,

"I guess I should thank you as well, haggis bastard." He muttered, "Even if that potato bastard kidnapped my brother again." Scotland shook his head, he knew better than to argue with the southern Italian,

"Have a safe trip home you two." He called as the two nations departed, closing the doors to the hall with a sigh. He grinned over to New Zealand, Canada and Ukraine,

"Thanks fer stayin' behind to help clean up." He said, running a hand through his hair, "Especially you Miss Ukraine, ye didnae have to help." Ukraine smiled at him,

"It is no problem. I had a very good time, and since Matthew is helping out I thought I should as well." She replied. New Zealand dumped the plastic rubbish in the bin liner the eastern European nation was holding,

"What about your brother though?" he asked warily, like many others the young nation was rather scared of Russia, even if he lived on the other side of the world. Ukraine looked to him,

"Ivan left a little early. Belarus decided she wanted to spend more time with him after having dancing." Even Scotland shuddered at the mere thought of what Belarus was likely to do to Russia should she catch him. He quickly gathered himself,

"Well once ye've all gathered this lot up ye can leave." He told them. He looked around quizzically,

"Mata, whaur's yer faither?" he asked, noting the severe lack of wavy blonde hair in the hall. Canada looked up,

"I think he went back into the kitchen to make sure we'd gathered up all the food." He replied. Scotland nodded and patted his nephew on the shoulder as he passed,

"Thanks wee ane." He then leaned into Canada's ear, "Dinnae dae anythin' I wouldnae." He whispered, giving his now beet red nephew a cheeky grin as he wandered off into the kitchen.

"Francis, you still in here?" Scotland called as he poked his head into the room, only to be dragged into it and into a rather demanding kiss,

"Nous verrons où les hommes écossais gardent leurs… possessions?" a voice rasped in his ear. Scotland chuckled as he wrapped his arms around the French man's waist and pulled him close,

"Faites-vous veulent vraiment savoir?" he chuckled, tilting France's head so he could kiss him again, "Je t'aime Francis." He muttered as they broke their kiss again and led France out of the kitchen, arms still wrapped around each other,

"Je t'aime aussi l'Ecosse." France murmured, leaning into Scotland as the two nations slid out of the back door and walked around to a waiting taxi,

"Do you think we should tell the others that we are leaving right now?" France asked as he leaned his head on Scotland's shoulder. Scotland thought for a moment,

"Nah... they'll be a'right." He assured the French man, "Now how's about we start getting round tae answerin' that question o' yours?"


End file.
